Real Bullets
by Sarcastic Musician
Summary: Natasha has to proctor the recruits' test. The team sits in an air duct. Natasha is amazing. Yep, that's pretty much it. P.s. I had no idea which genres to put this under so if you're offended tell me which ones you want this under. Hinted Clint/Natasha


Hey! I was inspired by all the new recruits themed stories. You should really go read them if you even remotely like this. So, I should warn you I've been in a writing funk, so I can't guarantee you'll love this. But I really like it. So fingers crossed.

Please read and review! No flames, please. Big thanks to my friend/BETA Raia for once again listening to my rants and picky word choosing. I can't be the only one who hates the word 'bewilderment!'

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"What are you guys doing?" A voice behind them asks, causing the men to jump and bump their heads on the metal surrounding them in the air vent.

"Shh!" The group exclaims in a volume louder than Clint's.

"The new recruits are here, Tony wants to see who tries to hit on Natasha first and Steve has a bet on how he's going to die," a nervous looking Bruce states; small spaces had never been a good thing with him.

"What are you doing here?" Tony questions with a raised eyebrow

"I always enjoy crawling through the vents, it's relaxing," Clint answers sarcastically. "What do you think I'm doing? Fury saw the video of you guys crawling in here and sent me in," he finishes, leaning beside Steve for a better view of the recruits.

Ten fairly tall men stand in the room below, talking and grumbling about having to wait. A few stare nervously at the training equipment, while many of the others brag continuously about their achievements.

"This is boring; if I hear that guy in the red talk about him lifting a car one more time…" Stark trails off rolling his eyes, "I've lifted a car!"

"Without your suit?" Steve teases, earning himself a death glare from Stark.

"I could if I wanted to!" Stark answers. "I didn't see you lifting any cars before the serum!"

Cutting off Steve's response and consequential fight, the door to the room opens.

Clint watches with a hidden smile as Natasha walks into the room.

"I am Agent Romanoff, and I will be proctoring your test today." She announces. "Today, you will be expected to run through the course located throughout the room." She addresses the group in a cold tone. "This will be a continuous course; once one obstacle is finished, you move directly to the next. This is a timed trial." She pauses, locking eyes with each man.

"I will not tell you what you must do. This is a field test-no example will be given until the end if none of you pass. You will be shot at during training by paintballs. If hit in any of the major arteries or chest you will fail and must wait a month to try again. Any questions?" She finishes, withering stare and frostbite-causing tone still in place.

The agents stare at the obstacle course, adrenaline coming off them in waves; the more cocky of the crew smirk challengingly at the intricate obstacles. Silence coats the room as the recruits study each obstacle.

As the silence stretches on, Natasha lets loose a smirk that causes Clint's grin to grow.

'She always loves watching the cocky ones fail,' he thinks, watching her call the first man.

"Thompson." He'll have to remember that if the way he's staring at Natasha means anything.

A mere ten minutes later half of the recruits were marred with fatal paint splats, while two others had quit.

Turning away from the eighth attempt, Steve speaks. "Wow, I never knew the training was this brutal."

"You have no idea." Clint says, remembering his own training. After the last men had gone and subsequently failed, Natasha stares at the raggedly breathing men.

"You all have failed," Natasha says in a deceptively calm tone. "Your retrial will be this time next month, it will not be in the same arena, nor have the same challenges. Any questions now?"

"Has anyone ever passed that?" the sixth man questions with heavy breath.

"Yes."

"Who?" Another man questions.

"I have," she answers, hiding her smirk from all but Clint, who in turn hides his chuckle.

"Will you show us?"asks the man that Clint has decided is his favorite (he didn't try to hit on Natasha).

Pulling the lever to start the clock and obstacles, Natasha begins her flawless dance through the arena. Turning and swiftly avoiding a cascade of bullets, she uses her foot to take out one of the robots. A few seconds, and countless twists and flips later, she was done.

The men –including three of the four in the air vent-gaze over her paint-less outfit in astonishment and barely concealed respect.

"You are excused," she says to the gaping men. Their pained and irritated grumbles can be heard as they walk out the door. The men in the air vent begin to retreat as Natasha gathers her supplies. As she crawls slowly back down the vent, Natasha's voice wafts to them.

"At least here they don't use real bullets," she says, with a bitter laugh.


End file.
